Sunday, July 26, 2009

I saw 4:48 psychosis today. It was a play written during a time when the playwright was going through severe clinical depression, and she killed herself soon after writing that play. It is telling how Pain is a muse for art. How recognisable. Cos watching that play and hearing those words, reminds me of a time not long ago. Maybe a few months back. During the school holidays. When I saw no way out, and it seemed the only tongue I had were late nights in front of the computer, eyes glazed and fingers furious. Producing only word-vomit on this website and magic on the other secret one. When it seemed the literal writing of pain was its only salve. But to re-read your work again is to cement it. Hurt and all.

I browse through my past today, and it is ugly. Filth really. Hideous that it should never be re-produced, or ever re-read. But something makes me keep going back. Maybe it's how easy the words flowed. Or maybe it's because there is something in there that still strikes a chord within.

I look at myself now, and realised that I have shifted. Moved from that place. Going, judging by the fact that only monotony and mundane recitals is all that I can produce now. Judging by the lack of inspiration. I suppose that is a good thing. That I have shifted from the place of black. I hope it stays that way. I really hope so.

Although in the light of many recent changes and upheavals, it is hard to say. There are no other things more fragile than the mind, and how easily it can be unraveled. All you need is some trigger. And there I would go rushing out into the californian sun, on my bike, blinded by rage I don't understand and recklessness so foolish.

I hope I stay.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

When you spend a substantial amount of time with a group of people, little inside jokes and shared experiences start to gather. And it's in spontaneous moments like these that sometimes make me feel glad to be here. One of these groups of people is my family.

My family... is a funny lot. Firstly, we are grossly indecent. I grew up seeing everyone nude. Baths are taken with the toilet door wide open (usually because when I was younger I was scared that there was a ghost in the toilet). Use of the WC is also always announced by clothes scattered at the threshold of the toilet door, which is of cos, wide open. I see all the womenfolk nude on a daily basis. Thank goodness same can't be said of the man-folk (singular, of cos). Although there were times, when daddy was older, he got a little slower and less discreet in his actions of changing from towel-around-the-waist to boxers. Thankfully I grew up, so my reflexes got abit faster and I was super-quick in spinning the head away so I never ever saw anything.

We also have atrocious habits and conversations. Me and my sister fight alot. Sometimes, we mock-argue for amusement. And oftentimes, we get competitive, and try to out-gross each other by naming the weirdest locations where a pimple can be found. But our bathroom habits are most amusing. Today was one of those funny exchanges. I like to take long number 2s. I have a stack of Reader's Digest magazines parked near the toilet. And anytime I need to go, would be a time to read those magazines. So that means I spend a good 20 minutes in the toilet. However, there is only one 'nice' toilet in the house. So when someone is using it, others have to contend with the lousier toilet. Whenever my sister sees me reaching for the RD magazines, she knows what's going to happen and she will try to out-rush me for the toilet first (in case she needs to go during my 20 minutes). Today she did the same.

"You want to shit?? Lemme go first!!" [rushes to occupy toilet bowl seat]

"Hurry up!!! Or else I'm going to defecate on your lap!" [ bends over to display ass to signify realness of threat]

"Haha! Okok, soon, I'm done" [finishes and proceeds to wash basin to wash hands]

By this time, I'm already on the vacated toilet seat, busy with the business of removing obstacles such as two layers of cloth between my ass and freedom.

"Minute! Minute!" [to indicate me to give her a minute's grace before I let go] ...

"Close the door!" [she wants me to shut the toilet door, or else the stink will get out. Mild wrestling of toilet door ensues. I win, because I don't want to gas myself. She goes to the standing fan right in front of the door and turns it on full blast. That is why we have a standing fan directly facing the toilet door, just as why there is a reason for a shelf bearing a stack of RD magazines near the toilet. Everything in my house has a subtle function, which ignorant visitors won't be privy to. Unless they read this blog.]

- 5 Minutes pass - Despite the efforts of the fan, my sister declares me evil while covering her nose. She screams to nobody in particular to "Run for your lives!". Leaves the room, and turns off the air-conditioning and throws open the windows. It's honestly not that bad, but our family is fond of drama. During this entire toilet situation, I was laughing so hard that I had trouble doing what I needed to do. (cos you know when you laugh your muscles kind of 'suck in', but 'suck in' is the opposite action of what I should do!)



My mother is another source of endless amusement. Ageing people have peculiar toilet habits which die hard. For my mom, it is scalding hot bath water. She can only bathe at the highest water temperature possible. Cold water is her kryptonite. There have been many occasions when I went into the bath right after my mom, unable to see anything cos of the steam in the white toilet. There have also been many other occasions when due to the steam and my complacency, I did not turn the shower temperature nob back to 'normal temperature'. I only discover that I forgot when I turn on the faucet, and the shower head happens to be aimed directly below the waist. And I get the worse most shocking pain in the world 'down there'. There will be a "What the fuck!" from the toilet, signalling another scalding of myself by myself at the worst place possible.

When I was younger, I used to like to play tricks on my mom. Once, I thought it will be terribly funny if I were to give my mom 'cold bath water' one day. So I took many ice cubes out of the fridge and let them melt in a bowl. Then I flung open the toilet door as my mom was still bathing inside, and splashed the ice water down her back. She spun around, and gave me this look of utter betrayal which I will never forget. Never forget because it was the most hilarious thing I had ever seen. Well, it is and still remains the most hilarious thing I've ever seen in my mom. But she didn't agree and was extremely angry at me.

There are many other memories further back in my childhood. This is a sad one. I clearly remembered that the first time I heard a swear word come from my mom's mouth.. was in the toilet. I did something wrong, I can't remember, maybe I splashed her haha, but she called me a 'bloody idiot'. And this time I was the one feeling betrayed. It was the first time I remember feeling not very loved, when a bad word came out instead of the nice, motherly soothing words I was used to. From that moment on, I lost abit of innocence and learnt the art of cursing. Starting with the term 'idiot'. It was like discovering the idea of sex. As monumental as discovering the idea of expressing discontent via cursing.

I also discovered sex sitting on a toilet bowl. That same toilet bowl that I used today. I was nine, doing my number 2 and instead of RD I was reading those ladies magazines, and I wondered how women got pregnant. I knew women were made pregnant by men, although I didn't know exactly how. So I thought of many ways... I formulated many hypothesis, one of which was maybe when a woman sat down on a seat vacated by a man, she could get pregnant. By then! It doesn't make sense! There must be a contact or an exchange of something. Something to trigger the pregnancy. Of cos, I reached this conclusion about an exchange thanks to the Singapore education. A logical deduction derived by my 'problem-solving skills'. I just wasn't sure what exactly the exchange was. As usual the toilet door was wide open, my mom as at the dressing table nearby. I asked her, and surprisingly she told me the answer without hesitation in the most Singaporean way imaginable.

"He put his thing in her shee-shee". I was like ! That makes sense! Plug into a hole. And the second thought was, that must feel good! And so marked the start of horniness.

Many strong childhood memories have to do with toilet and toilet related-things. I remember once, an incident away from the toilet but having to do with toilet-related things nonetheless. It was in the playground. I was... 11? My good guy friend and I were on the see-saw, going up and down in alternate motions. We were having a loud arguement about pregnancy. He says the baby comes out from the asshole. I say no the baby comes out from the shee-shee. He says no cannot, the shee-shee is too small the asshole is bigger. I say I am a girl I know better. Meanwhile, the maids beside us are sniggering to death. I cannot remember who won the arguement. But it was my first encounter with 'patriachy', sort of. The idea that a man thinks that knew better than me. ME!

There are countless other toilet stories. I'm sure other families have a fond little area of life that they all share in laughter about. For my indecent family, laughter and discovery surrounds the toilet bowl. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's sweet and heart-warming, but there are other times that the openness of my family is something of a hindrance. Like.

How the hell am I ever going to get away with a brazilian wax! I will be summoned by all the womenfolk for explanation, of which I'm sure my mother will later try to 'pray for me' while giving my lesbian poster the 'evil eye'. Haha, until then....

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Yesterday I chose the longer road home. Stopped one busstop before my house and took the winding road by the golf range back. I did that in the hopes that I will see those garden frogs again.

Sometimes at night, when it's late and quiet, and the grass are starting to collect dew, these small, pudgy little frogs start appearing. I often see them brazenly plonked in the middle of pathways. Sometimes even blending into the greys of the cement with their camouflage green. I always loved those little frogs because I found them exceptionally cute. They are egg-shaped, and seem so delicate that I want to cup them in my hands.

Last night I decided to try my luck again. Maybe on the way back I will get to see some frogs! I wasn't hoping for much, cos the higher your expectations, the harder it is to take disappointment. If I meet a frog, I'm lucky, I thought. Nevermind if I don't today, cos there will be other times and other walks.

I truly wasn't expecting anything, until I spotted that familiar bulge upon the floor. There it was, a really small one. Maybe a juvenile. Perched on the railings of a drain, so precariously. I squatted near it. And with a steady slow finger, prodded its turgid abdomen. It didn't run or hop away from me. It stayed still, although its abdomen swelled at my touch. Emboldened, I prodded it further, and again. Until it decided to move away.

But this time, it accidentally hopped between the railings of the drain. And with a slow sinking horror, I watch it slide through the grills, little feet gripping at the smooth metal with desperation. Until finally, a sickening plop, squish sound at the bottom of that very deep drain.

Frogs aren't like cats right? They don't have nine lives, they can't right themselves mid-fall. I don't think that frog survived that fall. It was small and the drain had great depth. Worse still, the drain was dry, no water body to break the frog's fall. I stepped back, immensely disappointed with myself, mildly shocked and saddened. All I wanted was to get close to the frog, but I killed it instead. Then I realised that this wasn't the first time.




How does it feel, to go towards the thing you desire. Only to have your advances kill the very thing you love.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Overprotective and super-kiasu me has decided that in order to heal properly, I will be exiled in the house for at least 1.sthg weeks. There's only so much that can be done within this four walls. Namely, watch TV, read, play the computer, surf the net, eat and sleep. Since computer usage can be quite straining on the eyes, I've taken to watching alot of TV. And one of the shows that I watch religiously these days is The Biggest Loser. Yeah, the weight-loss show featuring fat contestants. There is only one reason I watch that show.

JILLIAN MICHAELS. Omg. She is the super-fit super HOT super muscular super sexy trainer of the black team! omg. I swear, I have a serious major HUGE girl crush on her!

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/leslie-goldman/i-interviewed-jillian-mic_b_133611.html

She has a body to die for. Omg. And best of all, she has this super kick-ass attitude. PLUS. From her mannerisms on the show, I am 100% sure she is gayyyy. For sure. She's the kind of tough, strong feminine girl exuding that... kind of 'male strength'?? Not sure how to describe. But I guess T said it the best in the past, such girls are called 'femtch'. A feminine girl with the inner male. So. Hot. omg!

Last time, I used to have a girl crush on another girl like that. The super-tough, muscular, fitness trainer girl. That was when I was working in SB and we had a regular customer by the name of Joanne or Joanna or something. Either way, she was one of Singapore's famous female bodybuilders. And I always kind of thought she was quite hot. With the big biceps but feminine look. Somehow, a strong woman is very VERY sexy. Imagine being the helpless girl and being crushed in their (loving) arms. Awwww... Haha!

Omg, seriously, I have to get out of the house. I am drowning in this girl-crush. Arghhh!!!



Now tell me, doesn't she look a little gay to you? Heee.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

I'm reading this great new book. Got it from one of those indie bookstores in Chicago. (yes, love them american bookstores). It's called The Origin of the World: Science and Fiction of the Vagina.

Yea. VAGINA. You read right, haha.

It's a super cool book. Arguably one of the best books I have ever read. And the surest confirmation is the fact that it is a non-fiction book, the first non-fiction book I have successfully read more than three quarters of (and will definitely finish). I usually have a very short-attention span when it comes to non-fiction. I rarely go beyond a quarter of such books before giving up. Even with books whereby the subject matter is of deep, intrinsic interest to me, such as the book about the history of food. Somehow, the academia gets to me after awhile and I get helplessly bored. Not this book.

Now I thought I knew my subject matter pretty well. But after reading this book, I am completely blown away by how much information there is out there that we don't know of. How much history, science and incredible stories surround that very secret place. Most of the information, being totally cool. Like for example, I now know why the G-spot is called the G spot. (why G? Why not P-spot? P for pleasure spot! *snigger*). When I first saw the book, I was thinking that wells, since I was predisposed to liking women, it was better that I familiarise myself (even more) with important anatomical parts and how they worked. And now I can describe EXACTLY where the G-spot is, in scientific medical terms haha. Cool shit. Haha.

It's a really cool book. And probably very difficult to find as well. I didn't see it sold at the remaining bookstores that I visited in america. Plus it also cost me a bomb. Then again, I was buying a tomb of a book as it is very thick. But trust me, you will breeze through the pages because the writing is very VERY well done. No sexploitation or anything like that. Just very frank, objective relating of facts and sometimes, fiction. It's super cool. Some days I close the book and go, 'wow', I never knew so much about the vagina. I never knew there was so much to know! Haha.

On another note, my mom has finally confronted me about my big-ass lesbian poster that I pasted over my bed wall. It's the biggest poster in the room now (about 7X3"), and it's the same image as the one on this blog. So yea, I wake up (and fall asleep) to the sight of two girls kissing in b/w. Not exactly very subtle imagery and my mom, hinted, in also, not very subtle terms, for its removal. I resolutely refused and she went away, tail between her legs, unsure how to broach this topic once again with her stubbornly lesbian daughter. She says she will pray, haha. I say pray lah pray lah, pray all you want. Knowing that taking down the poster or having it there wouldn't change anything about me. Lol.

Lastly, I've been very pissed lately. Yesterday, when rummaging through the pile of books I brought home from the US, I realised that one very important book was missing from my collection. And it was the lesbian erotica book. You know they always publish those Best lesbian erotica of [insert current year]. I happened to buy one of those 'Best of the best ....' and at a bargain price too. And I realised it is NOT in the bag of books! Which is the only compartment I packed my books in! Which only means one thing: I left the freaking book in the US. KNNBCCBAAIIIII......One fact: it being still expensive to buy, two: it being not available in Singapore. GOOD GOD. I specifically bought that book BECAUSE I knew I'd never ever get to buy books like this in singapore. And it was the ONE book that I was most determined to bring back. I had planned from the start, even before I left for america, that I will get myself one of this books. And now it's GONE. GONE. And I didn't even read a single word of it yet. Strangely, the pain of losing it feels almost on par with losing my cameras (which are infinitely more expensive but don't have such... sentimental and rare acquisition value) I. is. very. UPSET. Was in an absolute fit when I discovered the loss, so much so that I was about to risk post-op healing. RAHH!

Okay. That's all about this post now. Which I noticed is filled with nothing but stuff about lesbians, vagina and sex. Haha. What else is there to be preoccupied with when one is recuperating at home and there is not much else to do.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Okay. So I've done it. For the first time, things actually happened pretty fast. I set a goal and within weeks, it is achieved. Then again, I didn't realise how quickly the procedure would go, from evaluation to end.

There is no turning back now. Everything is permanent. I can only move onwards from here. To tell you the truth, I was scared shitless. Damn scared. I was practically shaking in the operating theatre. When it's something so precious, there is a large part of me that doesn't want to risk it at all. But now it is done. I am on recovery mode. Everything I do from now on is of utmost importance. I cannot CANNOT risk too much, or be complacent. Extreme care must be taken for the next few months.

Sigh. Wells, at least. For the first time. Oh my gawd!


The change is amazing. Almost, dare I say, like magic.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Old people seldom speak. That is because old people only speak when they want to.

As I grow older I realise some of my unquestionable, bastions of truth starts to crumble. A lot of them came from politically-correct social conditioning that we all received growing up in good schools and good families. But then I realised that a lot of them were quite unnecessary and some were frankly a pain to endure. And that if we break free of the need to conform to these 'truths', or rules rather, than perhaps we'd all worry a little less because ignorance IS bliss. Well, ignorance meaning disregarding social conformity and peer pressure.

For example, the relationship of people to your self-identity. We grow up striving to be 'good' persons. We want others to think of ourselves as good people. We want them to have 'good' impressions, 'good' thoughts about us. And therefore we try to do things that are good in the eyes of people. Trying hard to 'impress' other people. That was my ideal growing, to be a good person to others so that others would think good of me. These others used to comprise of everyone that I came across. Every single person.

So if I am a good person, a hallmark and proof of being a good person is that people would want to be your friend right? If I am a good person, I should naturally make a good friend and company no? So that was my benchmark of my goodness, if someone sees me as a good person, that person wouldn't mind being my friend. So I strived to be as 'friendly' as possible, to make myself an appealing friend-to-be, and then that would reassure me that I am intrinsically a good person. That was how I measured my goodness, by how much people wouldn't mind being my friend. And for sometime, I actually didn't have anyone I could consider 'enemies'. Everyone I knew was either family or friend. I did my very best not to offend, but to please.

Then I started to realise that not everyone matters in your life. There isn't a need to please and impress every single person. Not everybody needs to be your friend. It is okay if someone you know is not your friend. You can choose.

You can discriminate, if you wish, on the friends you want to have. You can go against the grain of social pressures and not be friendly to everyone if you wish. You can be anti-social if you want to, it is not a crime and you won't die if you're not friends with everyone that you meet. I've broken free of my childhood ideals at times and realise what an uplifting thing it can be. How less burdensome and tedious when I succumb less to social conformity and just did as I pleased. Yes there are now people in my life that I have crossed/offended. In the past, I would agonise and fret over how I should reconcile differences but now I am just contend to ignore. Given that I don't see much value in maintaining a relationship with said person. Yes you can ignore that. Yes you can choose not to say sorry if you genuinely don't want to. Yes it is okay to be 'not good' sometimes, you won't die just because of that.

There are also some people that I don't feel like being friends with. Maybe its because I just feel our frequencies don't match or I don't particularly enjoy our mildly irritating conversations. Yes, there are people I don't want to make an effort towards friendship with. And it's okay to sort of... decline friendships in that manner. It is okay.

As I grow older I realise that when I was younger I was wasteful with time. A lot of time was spent doing things against my own deep, unconscious will, doing things that was expected and pressured into. Some of these things relate to maintaining or striving for relationships that I didn't really care much for. It was pretty much a facade, a pretense. Fake relationships. And I don't like that. Now I've come to the point whereby I'm done doing these silly dances and focusing only on what I really desire, friendships I really want to pursue. Instead of what society cooes to be 'good' social behaviour on my part.

It goes beyond the issue of relationships with people. But to alot of things that are supposed to be good. Caring, courageous, forgiving, generous etc. etc. Yes these are all inherently good things that we should, in all honesty, strive towards. But I think we need to cut oursevles a little slack sometimes and know that falling short of altruistic ideals isn't such a bad thing. It's probably good for our sanity too.

So yes. I know I ain't no mother teresa. And I know it's okay not to try to be one all the time. So therefore, don't beat yourself up too much when you choose to be weak, or unfriendly or selfish or whatever. We're only human after all. And life's too short to fulfill everyone's expectations.


So yea, embrace thy nasty self. I'd rather a person that dares to say "no" but mean every "yes', versus a person who's every single "yes" cannot be differentiated from true desire or lip-service.

I've been back for over a week. And it appears that I am still caught in a physical slump. I don't know if it's the weather or if it's the state of my room (untouched and dusty for 6 months), but my nose and throat seem to be in a constant state of irritation. Sometimes, an uneasy truce surfaces and I get a few hours, or even a day's reprieve. Then the next moment it all starts again and I'm perplexed as to the source of the sniffling. Like. What singapore-borne irritant is in the air tickling my nose again. And my denials that anything would lead to flu cos I already had flu less than a month before and it's just impossible that I could succumb again so quickly.

Then there is that ever-present lethargy. I went from walking 5-10 miles everyday and being on my legs all the time to sitting down at home 6-7 hours a day. The rest of the time spent lying down. Which is worse haha. And the air! Oh gosh. The singapore air. Hot and heavy with wetness. There are times I feel like I should get out of the house, just to stretch my legs, do something. But the air! The thought of going out there in that air... just repulses me. I came from dry, crisp, light as feather air. Air that was cool, and sometimes breezy but never too chilly and certainly not damp. Air that felt like there was no dirt in it. Singapore air feels like drain water. Sticky and wet with questionable particles. Even though it's probably scientifically correct to say that Singapore is less polluted, somehow it doesn't quite translates that to my sense. And so I feel entrapped by Singapore air in my own house. Too hot and sticky to exit. And so I pace around the living room like a caged lion with drippy nose and scratchy throat.

Then there is that atrocious acne flare-up. It's been really bad and I hope it passes soon and gets better. And then today, I discovered to my horror that I have a problematic tooth, which needs to be fixed as soon as possible. But not after I have dealt with the eye doctor. Urgh. So many chores.

It's been more than a week since I returned. I haven't done much except feel somewhat sickly most days. I don't know why. Running works to keep me afresh for like... a mere half an hour post-workout. And then it's back to the slump. I've stayed home pretty much. Venturing out seems like a real ordeal, or elaborate multi-step task that I dread. Strange, compared to the fact that I had no qualms hopping out of bed every day for the months of May and June to travel. There are many people I am supposed to meet and keep up with, events to attend that I've mentally noted. But I haven't gotten down to all these and I think I would, if only my respitatory system would cooperate.

Some days I can't quite tell if its the pig flu. One hypothesis has me reasoning that I should already have gotten it in DC since that was my most violent flu ever. But if so, it is not possible that I should succumb to another flu so fast since my immunity to flu in general should be running high post-flu. Second hypothesis argues that this second bout is the real pig flu, given by the fact that I succumbed so easily despite my post-flu, naturally-high immunity. Because no one has immunity to pig flu yet and it's almost a given that you will fall ill if you come into contact with the virus. Hmmm. Third hypothesis is that my room has some kind of dust irritant that needs to be flushed out. But flushing out requires packing and cleaning, which will obviously stir up dust first before it can be purged. I am not in a state to do any dusty cleaning at the moment. Since my first attempt a few days back, kind of started this whole problem anyway. Perhaps I need to buy those $30 masks. And then clean.

Besides cleaning, life has other chores for me. I need to get my eyebrows threaded, and somehow, if possible, get back into swimming. The dental and eye appointments. Haircut has been settled. Great. But if I choose not to venture outside, the home is an entertainment system that I can count on. I've got 3 new computer games, a dozen new books of lesbian fiction, the entire collection of Little Britain on DVD and 2 other lesbian movie DVDs. As you can see, there is alot to be accomplished lying down at home.

Even though life is filled with many little things to do here and there, some days I just sit and stone and again the mind starts to wander. And I am alarmed and worried, because honestly, I realised that I do not know. AT ALL. What I want in a career. What kind of job I want to do. In less than a year I will graduate. For the first time, the Singapore government will not be dictating my next step in life, I have to figure it out for myself. And the thought is truly daunting. Because while it seems that a lot of people have already established or know what their general career path is, mine is one big question mark. While I'm preoccupied with the things of the now (getting good grades, having a social life, getting through each day), I realised that the future itself hasn't been worked on. Not enough thought has been given to it. Not enough opportunity has been made to explore it. And if I don't get started soon I am going to be in a pile of shit come graduation. I don't want to wake up every morning for the next decade dreading my job. But when I look back at all the jobs I've had (which is not much), the only one I truly woke up to in anticipation of it.. was the job at SB. Food is relentlessly exciting, but it's not profittable. At least not where I envision myself to be in food. And what good is a business degree if you wish to work in a kitchen. I'm not even sure if that's what I really want.

Thinking about jobs leads me to a scarier discovery: Firstly I don't know what career I want. Secondly, besides career, I realise I don't know what life I want. Am I going to... graduate, go out to work, work work work, take some holidays here and there, go out and 'recreate' or 'socialise', till the day I expire? Where's the dream in that. I feel... purpose-less. As if, my planning faculties are limited to day-by-day timetabling. No goal on the horizon to aim for.

Shit. Life is scary.

Wednesday, July 08, 2009

Slowly but surely, I'm getting used to this place again.

Once again, church warms the heart. It is good to be back, to speak with the boys again. Last night I came back for cell after a long long time of not discussing God. And I was reminded again why Levis is so important to me, and how much our discussions is so.... fulfilling. Then laters, it was dim sum supper to catch up.

We were chatting and filling each other in on the events that have occurred separately in our lives the past few months. I told them about my adventures haha, and the reactions were quite amusing lol. Then KW mentioned something which I thought was kind of true. He mentioned that his aunt (also a lesbian), said that for some reason, lesbians tend to jump from relationships to relationships, without much break in between. It made me think for awhile and realise that the stereotype is kind of true. I've seen it happen many times amongst many people. Out of all the couples I know, how many seem to have 'just exited' from one relationship before ending up in their current one. Then I look at my straight female friends and realise how vastly different they seem to operate. Maybe it's a coincidence, maybe not. But still, it disturbs me sometimes when people move so fast, even when their past relationships were of a pretty serious and deep nature. How could that experience cease to mean anything so quickly. I don't know the reasons why. But I could guess one. And I suppose that saying is pretty true after all, that the best way to get over someone is to replace them with someone else. Easy. Rebound I suppose? Possibly, and I've been there to know never to fully believe someone when they say they aren't on rebound. Ha. Yeah right. I'll trust what I see a few months later, then get back to me. Nobody would admit to being on rebound anyways. (even to themselves?)

Hmm I don't know. These things are confusing. And I hope I stay a simpler person. God forbid that I become like this in the future. Jump from one to another. If relationships are nothing but withered down to buses that you hop on and off from. That nobody really is forever and we're here for the time being only. That we can hope that it lasts, but deep down we know that it's bullshit. Maybe the straight people got it right. They have institutionalised love, such that getting out of love is no easy task. Legally and financially. Maybe children forces the monogamy of our parents. Kind of like handcuffing the parents together. Yes, children certainly 'bonds' the family together. Literally. If there's nothing to hold you down, nothing to slow you from your gut reactions, no reason or impetus to reconsider, to try and rebuild, then it's so easy to quit no? Easy come easy go. What is the point?

Yesterday I asked a question in cell: if we know we are not able to discern the mysteries of God for ourselves, what is the point of asking these unanswerable questions that we tackle every Tuesday. And the point was that through questioning we grow and learn from each other. We will probably never arrive at our primary objective: knowing the one true answer. But we still benefit nonetheless. So I guess, what is the point of relationships then. If the purpose is love, but you know these things don't last anyway. What is the point? I guess maybe that's an irrelevant question, when your heart rings your mind gets ignored and rationality goes out the window. And you start doing stupid things, such as pointless pursuits maybe.

It is hard for me to believe that there is inherent beauty in all this, when each times gets worse than the last. And even when I say I'll wear my heart on my sleeve whenever the time comes, I'd be lying if I say I don't dread its coming. I would like to be optimistic, and I have been. But hope doesn't last long when things go awry. So my circle of influence then becomes an inward one. Subordinate those feelings and let your values take charge. Begin with the end in mind. Even if the end is a compromise.

Yes life is larger than this I know. But it's because your life could be so large, so filled with things, that it gets harder to ignore that hole.

Saturday, July 04, 2009

After all that cycling in America. Particularly all over Los Angeles and up/down hilly SF.

I happen to lay a hand on my ass today and was shocked. (!) The texture has improved!! I would describe it as... firmer. A little more resistance to the touch. Haha!

Nice.

Friday, July 03, 2009

I have returned. *cue dramatic music.*

Hmmm. I suppose now I am somewhat expected to write some airy-fairy blog post about how this exchange was a postive (yes), life-changing (I guess), wonderful more than anyone could ever imagine... kind of experience for me. How sad I am to leave the US (absolutely) and how the world outside Singapore is so so much better and we Singaporeans here should get the hell out asap (I'm not sure).

Hmmm. I don't feel like reflecting much. There isn't that much to reflect on, well I guess there is and I'm being superficial for now. But all I remember distinctly from remainder of the trip was my harried shopping sprees, my solo jaunts across cityscapes, feeling very carefree doing my own thing and feeling very burdened when some hostel-mate wants to hang out with me (yes I am actually anti-social, it is not that hard to believe), amused when I have random conversations with other men (wondering why it is always men and never other women), flustered and annoyed by my material losses and unfinished banking business.

But one thing sure stands out. And that was how, during my one month of solitude... how I never once felt lonely. Never, not even when days would go by and I would not speak to anyone at all. Beyond ordering food and asking for directions. How I never felt the need to meet someone, to have company and how satisfying and calming solitude could be. Yet here in Singapore, where there are so many people that I know, there were times multiplied when I have felt so alone. Friends and family couldn't feel that gap. But there was no gap in America. Or at least for the time being, there were bigger things than the gap.

I miss that feeling. Where everyday, every morning I wake up, I know for sure I have a brand new day ahead of me. A new day full of discovery, and firsts, and surprises and beauty. A new day in a new place and a renewed state of mind. Everything is happening for the first time, and even mistakes facilitate serendipity. There are times I took wrong turns, only to witness something beautiful, bump into a random event, stumble upon an awesome awesome live music venue. There are times when I felt immediately that I have made a wrong choice once it was done, only to change my mind later when I see where chance has brought me.

The last day as I was walking through Union Square in SF. Seeing the international flags wave from their high posts, and the statue loom over me, and the skyscrapers around, it was surreal, knowing that this. THIS. is my last day in america. Six months have passed but I have not felt their passing. I feared more at the start than I should. I was worried about whether I could survive, handle, surmount the challenges that awaited me. I guess I was paranoid. Because for what it's worth, this was worth it. Sure I've lost alot of money through losing my stuff, making stupid choices, but somewhere along the way I guess a price must be paid for my lessons learnt. And so I don't, try not to, regret. Certain things.

Did I learn more about myself? I suppose so. Did I improve as a person? I am not sure what type of improvement really matters. More streetwise or independent? Duh. Everyone gets that. A better character? I don't know. More confidence, more direction? It's a question mark. I'm not sure that I have grown, in the places that truly mattered. Have I returned refreshed from my holiday or more burdened? Have I changed. I don't know. Things feel pretty much the same. Even the weather, I am beginning to adapt to. The only thing different is that I have been to America and seen the other side of the world. But what goes beyond that, I'm not sure.

I've returned ... to the prospect of school starting again. Proper school. I've returned to the mundane, idleness of Singapore life, to the old places I've already been to, to old familiar things I do not really need to repeat, to chores and errands, to normality. It is depressing. And I feel trapped. Sometimes, literally by the heat. In the US, walking outdoors was a beautiful, gentle, comfortable affair. I could walk on and on and never feel like I left an airconditioned room or exerted myself. The possibilities were endless and always fresh always new. Now everything feels old and dated to me here. Perhaps I need to rediscover my country again. Rediscover its peoples.

But I don't know. Some things rarely change, and there is good reason for me not to remember some of those things. But I'm back in Singapore, and there's no more avoiding.